On the Eighth of June
by Auroshara
Summary: Javert gets interrupted in his suicide attempt.


There are unfortunate circumstances that can lead a man to an unfortunate ending.

And if, by definition, Inspector Javert did not like anything that was due to anything unfortunate, his whole life had taken another meaning. Valjean was at the barricades of June 1832. How much of a random circumstance could that be ? Unfortunately, that was the reality. He had to confront the revolutionaries, who tied him up; he was insulted of traitor for his spying, which he found quite unfair, since these Republicans were, after all, murderers. He was resolved to die. To die in the services of the French gendarmerie, because justice was a good reason to perish for. Yet, Jean Valjean had untied his links and let him go, confronting the Inspector to the view of the dead Guardsmen on the ground, and, most importantly, to the view of his own life being shattered.

The policeman did not dare to return to the police post, and yet he knew that they would soon start researches to know if he had died at the barricades. Die, that was the word. Because he felt weak all at once, he only saw one solution to the confrontation of his mistakes; to escape. And what a better escape, in Javert's eyes, than the water of the Seine, flowing under the bridges like an eternal peacekeeper, having seen all those revolutions without ever dying itself, keeping the secrets of the Parisian history...

So, by night, he had joined the bridge Notre-Dame, just above the river. It was the 8th of June 1832, just after the barricades' events, when the streets were barely cleaned. The sky was dark, the air was cold, despite the summer time. And the river itself looked like a black gulf, where it was barely possible to see the water. Nothing reassuring, but not dissuasive enough for the Inspector. He had a duty, and he had failed. His own life had been a failure. Because, "if he was not as strict with himself as he was with the others, but he would be... a miserable!".

Yes, the abyss would have removed all courage from anyone. Except from a servitor of the law, who had devoted his life to law, and who infringed the law. He did not even feel fear at the barricades – why would he feel it now, more than the moment where he was supposed to be shot, or murdered by a knife? There was no reason to.

No, he was just able of feeling this blank emotion that was in him each time that he arrested someone, each time that he was supposed to be scared or in awe. Was it his error? Not to feel emotions as strong as everyone did? It was too late to mind about it. He rested his top hat on the bridge's trail, was slowly raising one of his legs to climb, but...

"Inspector!" shouted a voice on the other side of the bridge, far in the distance.

Javert knew that no one cared for him – and he cared for, truly, no one. In normal times, he would not turn to see who was calling him, he would simply climb and let himself fall, unaffected by the events around him. However, he did not want to be on the first page of the newspapers of the next day because he committed suicide. Patiently, he put his foot back on the ground, and turned around to face the one who disturbed him.

The man was very familiar to the Inspector – he knew him since years. He was wearing a military tunic, and still had his weapons. He was a National Guardsman attached to the services of the police, and had spent his last days on the barricades as well. He was one of these lucky fellows who did not die in there. He looked clearly worried, and quickly advanced towards Javert.

"I do not understand, Inspector," the gendarme said. "You had all these difficulties to get out from the revolutionaries' den, and the first thing you do is to...

\- I do not believe that my decisions are to be examined by the National Guard," replied Javert sharply.

The Guardsman caught the hat and placed himself in front of his superior, continuing to talk despite of the cut:

"What! You would have fought all these years, telling us to respect this and that, to make of the law our master... You would have led all these battles in your young years in the sole hope to become a policeman, and you wish, now, to commit the ultimate sacrifice, because you made a human mistake?

\- What do you mean, soldier? How do you know...

\- I was at the barricades, too. I have been at your side for so long that the circumstances did not miss that time, as well. And you want to jump from here! After the battles where we bit the sand, where we feared the shadow of the enemy approaching, the cavalry charges, the sound of the war horns, the cannonball crushing the earth and catching our comrades... I truly think that this ending is not worthy of you, Inspector."

Javert had few idea of how to react to the revolt of this guard. But soon, he backed away from the edge of the bridge, confronting the gaze of his officer. The latter eventually spoke:

"You know, Inspector, I have lost seventy-five of my men at the barricades.

\- And then, replied Javert in a rather annoyed tone, then why did you not leave the National Guard? You have risked your life enough.

\- Because if it was not for me to command my men, Inspector, there would be someone else who has not made the same mistakes as me, and who would send them right to death."

Javert slowly came to realization as the Guardsman stared right into his eyes. There were no more words exchanged. The officer slowly walked towards his inspector, and gave the top hat back to him. Javert did not even move, only feeling the warm hand of his interlocutor for a moment. The soldier took a step back, and muttered:

"And this person would probably not think of the righteous inspector who was imprisoned, right there, behind the furniture wall..."

The officer put his shako back on his head, and, from a step of veteran who was almost sure that his well-liked superior would not go further than the bridge's trail, disappeared as quick as he came, perhaps a bit more peaceful.

Javert decided to put the top hat back too, and slightly leaned over the bridge. The dawn was raising, and the river was no longer a threatening gulf.

The few remaining Guardsmen were giving the salute to their fallen comrades, on the other side of the streets, where a barricade was. They were solemn, but full of emotion. They were silent, but their speech was powerful all at once.

 _[I am quite sure that this is mostly a badly written fiction, but if you enjoyed it... I appreciate it! Thanks for reading.]_


End file.
